


Twixt

by orphan_account



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Porn Battle, Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-05
Updated: 2008-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three snapshots of Angel (Angelus) and Spike (William) throughout the centuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twixt

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Insanejounal's Porn-Battle.

_Edinburgh _

Angelus likes to play with his food. He figures that might be a part of it. There's a whiff of something appetizing in William, as in Dru, a taste of humanity he could get to if he could just bite deep enough. And he does bite very deep. On William's shoulder, crunch, all the way, but all he can taste is that girl and the wine. William's bubbling scream.

Drusilla giggles and Angelus grins wildly like a boy, his mouth and chest bloody. Darla smiles. 'Go on, my love,' she says, and Angelus shoves his leg between William's thighs. He's met with a punch that he can feel right down to his spine. William's spun around, his true face upon him, and he's reaching for the chair. Now the chair's broken and he's holding a stake.

It's a different game, but Angelus is up for it. He pulls out his sword.

-

_ Calcutta _

'Come on,' Angelus says. The sunshine is creeping along the floor, muted but scorching. 'Come on, you son of a bitch.'

'Leave my mother out of this,' says William the Bloody, but he picks up his pace by a fraction. Angelus snarls, his teeth sharp against white cotton.

-

_ Los Angeles _

He did always like the poetry.

He used to say it was the worst kind of doggerel and make the girls laugh at William the Bloody Awful, but he'd listened to it, listened closely, and walked to its cadences when they went out hunting and playing and William muttered lines under his breath.

It wasn't in the violence, and it wasn't in the sex, that speck of something human in Spike that made him so hungry. He used to look for it in the beast-things, when it was there all along, in his language. Spike writes himself into being.

Wordless, angry, Angel looks at him, and yearns the skill still.


End file.
